A Random Thought
by Judy Puncinella
Summary: Mikado is a scientist, Izaya and Shizuo are robots he created, created solely for killing each other and provide Mikado pleasure. Warning: Sex, bad language, Probably major OOC-ness, Pseudo-Psychological babbling, and overall horridness.
1. Chapter 1

In response to this request:

**Mikado/?, Human is so interesting, they're so pathetic**

Half-AU!Durarara?

Uhm, it's about Shizuo and Izaya is actually an artificial(sp?) life/human created by a scientist!Mikado (because we all know it's impossible for them to be human), they're created with nature of hating each other and twisted personality, to make Mikado life more interesting. Complete with the nature of hating being controlled by their 'father', Mikado, just because Mikado finds it amusing to find them struggle for freedom.

The scientist!Mikado is eventually dead, and unfortunately they still keep fighting each other, because they're programmed(?) so. Years later (I don't know, they're artificially, so they immortal? up to author!anon really), they found a boy who look like their 'father' with a different personality, which actually scientist!Mikado's clone, and with his newest artificial slave, Aoba(?)

That's the setting I want I guess? How the story flow is up to the author!anon.

If there's a pairing, please, anything BUT ShiZaya. No offense, but I'm getting bored skimming through numerous of this pairing. And if it's Masaomi/Mikado could it be more brotherly love?

Make it as twisted as possible lol

Brownies, if there are lots of brain-play between the artificial lives and scientist XD and Mikado only think the human as his toy (to quote this post subject: "human is so interesting, they're so pathetic")

More brownies, if there is dark-smut here and there (most likely the scientist with his slaves XD?)

But really, most important thing is, Shizuo and Izaya as artificial lives, with Scientist!Mikado XD

Thanks in advance for anyone who does this (of course multi-fill is muuuuuuch looooooveeee) 3 3 3

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><p>Shizuo really should have hated Professor Mikado, he really should. He was a freak, a walking machine, whose mind and thought can be controlled and regulated by a computer, his body was only a tool to keep Mikado entertained on those long days wasted upon research after research, he was but a doll to him...but he couldn't bring himself to hate Mikado, no matter how twisted or evil he was, because...deep inside, try as Mikado may to control it, he couldn't hate Mikado because he was so...so...adorable.<p>

He shouldn't have wept as he did when Mikado was killed at the age of 28, with a bright future ahead, and a thousand papers published under his name- each the envy of the entirety Academia. He shouldn't have missed the man who finds him as merely an amusing toy, before shutting him up when he is done playing. He shouldn't have any feeling for such a man, evil as he was, misanthropic, caustic, cynical, and dishonest as he was, and as thoroughly irredeemably a mean-spirited, tight-fisted, secretive an arsehole that he was. But, he really did love Mikado...deep down, when he wasn't busy hating him...he really did lust after him...he thinks it to be genuine because Mikado was always trying to get rid of it...always screaming and tearing at his hair while he tries to find a way to get rid of that...maybe he was playing all this time, pretending that he couldn't do anything about it, but he didn't care...he knows that he loves Mikado.

He feels empty and soulless without his master…he really does…a master that made him to toy with, to fight against Izaya for all eternity, made solely to please him in their hatred…and hate him he does…Izaya…scumbag…he knows this hatred to be artificial, but he still hates him. It pleases Mikado that he hates and fights him, and, he thinks, if it pleases Mikado, it is reason enough. Mikado never hid his scorn for them…he consider them exaggeration of all the faults he found in every human…he made them to see men hurt each other, to confirm his misanthropy. "Humans are so interesting," he would say, watching them try to kill each other, coolly smiling, in an disinterested sort of way, "they're so amazingly pathetic."

Mikado hated humans; he hated everything he didn't understand, everything out of reach of his science. He was a Universalist in the Sciences, he was a biologist, a physicist, a psychiatrist, a linguist, a mathematician whose range encompassed the whole of human knowledge, he certainly knew more than anyone else on this earth, but, Shizuo thinks, he never understood humans and their emotions. He never really got why humans become so angry or so sad over trivial matters like death of love ones or broken pencils. He probably found humans to be beyond his understanding, never acting as reason and knowledge dictates, but always in the most irrational and stupidest manner possible. For that purpose, he built them, to prove to himself that humans are silly, worthless creatures, and watch silly worthlessness kill each other, as if in a dream- to destroy what he could not understand.

He knows all this, but he really couldn't help but miss him- his every smile, laugh, his feminine beauty, they are all etched into his mind, saved, and always playing though. He loved Mikado for the very reason why Mikado hated humanity- he was imperfect, he was beautifully imperfect. And, standing above his grave, he could only wish- the tears sliding down his cheeks- he could only wish to show Mikado his own imperfectness and show him his love.


	2. Chapter 2

Izaya always hated Dr Mikado, that cold, condescending smile, always knowing more than him or anyone else, always in that silent, tranquil anger, fury, and hatred, never breaking from false civility and politesse, fastidiously researching and jealously publishing, only breaking routine to play with his little puppets, silently and stoically enjoying the pain and blood of their contrived hatred. But, he especially hated him for giving him freedom of thought without freedom of will. He was glad for Mikado's death, laughing and smiling where everyone else was weeping.

"He was an exceptionally bright lad, he was, so young, with so much ahead…" He was, wasn't he? But, no one remembered him as he did, impassively watching as the blood splayed across the window with him watching and smiling and snarking. Not a single one of them ever felt those cold hands digging into his fake flesh, watching, with glee as he shut his eyes in pain, putting in the plugs, coolly gazing down upon him, pitilessly, as the programming information tortuously ran through his skulls, feeling as if there was a Minerva in there, fighting to burst out of his head.

"The scientific world has never produced a finer mind, and it shall never again produce one of such calibre and genius." They never had to suffer watching him subtly praise Shizuo for the slightest thing, Shizuo who never exerted as much effort on he did for anything. They never had to see their hard work and their service get dashed by him with painful silence and cold scorn. "Father…" Izaya whispered to the winds, the tears dripping off his cheeks as raindrops as he tried to continue laughing. "Father….why?" Why? Why was he never good enough for him? He always did what he was programme to do, what he was told, as did Shizuo, but he was always second in his eyes.

Shizuo…he knew from the start that their hatred was contrived, artificial, false, mechanical. It was what they were programmed to do, but, quickly, that became genuine. He watch as his father gift the brute with more free will than he, more freedom of emotion, more freedom in general…and he watch as the brute, like the dog he was, return that with a slavish affection for him. What did these effete scientists know of Mikado? Did they ever feel the pain of his silent spurn? Did they watch Mikado grant his Abel more love than his Cain- who toiled daily at his field, willingly bearing the multitudinous pain to satisfy him?

"He was such a sweet person too, and so very, very young." He was not. He was a cruel man. He was an evil man. He was a hateful man, and Izaya hates him very much. Izaya was glad he was dead, glad he was buried and gone, to be food for the worms- maybe, in a week, he shall dig him up, and laugh as he watch the maggots crawl in and out of that once pretty face, now all poxed with holes and decay- laughing as he tears the head from the body, and holding it up- like Hamlet's Yorick- cry "Alas, Poor Mikado!". He hated him for creating him, for making him so human, for loving Shizuo more than he love him, but Izaya hated him most of all because Izaya loves him- beyond the love of a father and a child- beyond that of petty lovers- true love, every possible love- Agape, Storge, Eros, Philia- he loves him because it is impossible to have him, and because it is impossible to have him, he hates him.


	3. Chapter 3

Shizuo despondently watch Dr Shinra and Celty from the drawing room as they waltz through the night, watching their shoes tap upon the hard wood floor as the Music grew louder, taping one, two, three, and four, repeat, one, two, three, and four. He loves her, and she him, and everything else was trivial to them, content in laying on each other arms, and in perfect peace. What would it be like for him to dance like that with his Father?

Shizuo could see the hesitation in his eyes with a matching expression of surprise, followed by a dark blush. Father was not brave enough to face the uncharted waters, he was going to refuse, he was going to try to alter his thoughts pattern after this unwarranted suggestion, but he will have none of that. He will make him do it- in this dream land, he is not powerless against his father, he is not controlled by remote and wires, he is unfettered and unbounded, free to act upon his fantasy, wherever it takes him. He roughly grabs him, making him dance for a while…father slowly gets into it and enjoys it as well, giving him one of his rare smiles. He smiles as well, because his father is pleased.

They slowly get on through the night, slowly moving from the living room to the bed room.

"Father," he would say, while playing with his nipples, "Father, do you want this?"

His father is unsure, he is hesitant, he is unwilling to explore this ground, as he was unwilling to explore any emotion, but he nods anyways. He pulls down father's trousers, relishing the sight of his naked father- his father, while he was alive, was never too shy about his own nakedness in front of his little dollies, but in this dream, his father sees him as a fellow, and because of that, he is shivering in shame. He notice him shivering down there especially, him already hard, and his hole clenching in fear. "Father," he would slowly slur, watching his father blush even harder, "father, I would have to use lube so it would not hurt as much."

His father would nod and he would smile, and he would cover his cock in lubricant, and position himself, and his father would close his eyes waiting, and he would enter. Yes, he would love him; he would show him his love. And father would love him in return, father would blush when he says those words- words he would give everything he had and more to hear- they would love, and it would be a pure love, and they would be all alone in the world, with only the two of them together, feeling each other.

All he could do now is dream of father, father in his grave, father turned to bones, father who was cold, callous, cruel, but father whom he loves and who was his life and soul. "Father," he said, silently sobbing behind his dark shades, "I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

« L'orgueil a plus de part que la bonté aux remontrances que nous Faisons a ceux qui commettent des fautes: et nous ne les reprenons pas tant pour les en corriger que pour leur persuader que nos en sommes exempts. »

(There is more pride than kindness in our reprimands to people who are at fault; and we reprove them not so much to correct them as to convince them that we ourselves are free from such wrongdoing.)

-La Rochefoucauld  
><em>Maximes <em>

There was nothing amazing about humanity, Mikado thinks, as he smiled and thanked the coachman and as Aoba hauls his portmanteaux and suitcases through the chilly winds and snow to their hotel room, nothing amazing about life, death, or anything. He looked down upon humans going about their petty lives, watching their scuffling, their thieving, lying, sinning, their selfishness, their darkness, their evil...they, creatures given the potential to improve from their baser nature, impoverish themselves continuously, seeking always whores, money, and all those trivialities as the world rot around them. They would never lend themselves to altruism, despite their great potential for selflessness; never lend themselves to virtue despite their powers for it, never to reason or rational thought, always, in the end, giving themselves to their pleasure, passion, to the moment, to themselves.

"Aoba," Mikado said, his voice almost as poisonous and cold as his mind, "go to our room, I must meet with Creator." Aoba nodded, before running off, the soles of his ill fitting shoes clanking up the stairs. What a fine handiwork, Mikado thinks, Aoba, the perfect recreation of the human mind, his body, steel and flesh. Life is merely a set of equations, he thinks- in those briefcases and in his mind, there lies the power of making immortal, destroying the world, creating life, recreating the mind, all in a series of equations separated by long paragraphs- it is all valueless, there is no deeper meaning to living than its mechanical functions, no mystery of the mind he has yet to unlock. He was proof to that, he died forty-five years ago, at the age of twenty-eight, and, yet, he was recreated, resurrected, and publishing and writing up like he use to do.

He now understood why his former self took to recluse. Mikado watch the fair of Vanity, Depravity, and Stupidity go on before him. So much capacity for behaving rationally, for knowledge, for reason, in this race, and, yet, it goes wasted, trying to attain the meaningless, the trivial, willing to give each other up to escape the end of the valueless. Mikado had tried, with every study, to gently reform man, but he is persistent, he is obstinate, he is unwilling to accept it, accept that there is nothing more to the mystery of human existence but numbers, he was unwilling to let go of ignorance, or emotion, and letting reason be the sole guiding force. It is impossible to reform humanity- the individual, he was hopeful, but humanity, impossible. "Ah Mikado, you have come." He watches the aged face of Creator creak into a smile, a genuine smile.

He smiles back, also genuine. He loves Creator, because Creator was the only man he could ever see as an equal. Creator understood him. Creator behaves as rationally as he does, who separate himself from emotion as he does, who know the truth, as he does, who was his former self's best friend and associate. "Mikado, you know how I miss you." Mikado nodded, as he unbuttoned to remove his shirt. Creator, alone, he saw as an equal. Creator, who is kissing him now, who is undoing his own trousers, as Mikado is his…Yes, his Creator, Father, Equal, who is in him now… who is rational, emotionless, passionless, and devoted wholeheartedly to truth, as he was. "Kida…"Mikado moans.


End file.
